


Close Encounter

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Come Inflation, Masturbation, Other, Pseudoscience, Tentacle Sex, Weird messy and possibly gross, muscle fetish, overlarge insertion, weird science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Medic takes the next step in his experiments, after the events of Scream Fortress 2015. The results are irregular, but scientific method dictates that results are only valid if they can be achieved through repetition. </p><p>Put bluntly, he gets fucked by a tentacled beast, for SCIENCE.</p><p>Inspired by a drawing by Kingu (linked in Notes) and the Invasion update.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kingu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingu/gifts).



In a shock of light, the alien beasts arrived on an unsuspecting world, their thousand eyes surveying a planet as yet still sleeping, still ignorant of their presence. The night was split around them, a flash, a bang, and the people of the planet Earth awoke to find that the world was not as they’d left it when they’d taken to their beds, that it had been torn asunder, and that towering creatures with rubbery skin and flailing arms now laid waste to whole cities, the greatest accomplishments of Mankind crumbled at their taloned feet. Tanks were no use against their onslaught, their missiles smashing uselessly against toughened flesh. A woman screamed and clutched at her hair, and the Medic stood to turn off the set.

Immediately, the picture winked out with a fuzzy hum, the cathodes within surrendering. The Scout snorted awake on the sofa, popcorn stuck to his cheek, and protested: “I was watching that!” but the Medic shooed him out of the Rec room and turned out the light.

Whether or not he’d sat through the movie, the Medic could more or less guess the way it would have gone. The monsters would be defeated, the Earth would be saved, and the screaming woman would kiss the man with the shiny, pomade-slick hair. How dreadfully boring. 

Now, if he were to make a monster, it wouldn’t go down as easily as those rubber suits always did. If HE made a monster, there wouldn’t be a strong-jawed hero in a polo shirt to lead the last stand against the invading hordes. If he set his mind to it, why, the very sight of his creations would break an ordinary man, would drive him mad with fear, or with the sheer smallness of a pedestrian intellect.

He stalked into his surgery, and despite the late hour, stopped to scrutinise the notes on his chalkboard. First came the MediGun, which denied Nature the pleasure of subjecting mortal bodies to the banalities of mere injury. If the body could survive without its component parts (the skeleton, the heart), could the parts survive without the body? The enemy Spy graciously loaned his head to prove they could. And those parts could be improved, and indeed, rendered invulnerable– an unexpected side-effect to his desire to preserve the disparate parts of the body for longer periods. How much could he remove from the body before he snuffed out its most base quintessence? Where, in the ligaments, in the flesh, in the organs and blood, in the myriad constellations of neurons and nerve clusters did that spark of life lay? He would find it, and he would grasp it, and then all of life would be at his disposal.

Respawn taunted him with its simulacrum of true deathlessness, with its arcane machinations. It regurgitated. It did not restructure. Respawn would never invent, would never make… Additions or embellishments, as he had done. It prolonged his time, and for this he was grateful, but it was only a stopgap while he pursued his own diversions.

That pumpkin farce had led him to some astonishing discoveries: the mind, it would seem, could survive quite well without the body. It could be attached to any number of things. Was this, then, the spark of life? Where did it come from? How was it created? At what stage in development was it present?

It would seem he would not be getting any sleep that night.It was the work of a few minutes to fetch a Petri dish from a storage cabinet, and a crinkled magazine from under the mattress in his adjoining bedroom. In order to discover at what level in a human life that essential /something/ was present, he decided to work from the ground up, and investigate the most rudimentary building blocks of human existence. For that he would need samples. Ova would be a bit difficult to acquire, but semen was fairly readily available.

He set the dish on a paper towel, positioning them on a low rolling cabinet so he could stand over it and flick through the magazine as it rested on the counter. Glossy prints met his eyes, well-used images which fuelled his fantasies, the men in the health magazine flexing and gleaming with sweat. He took himself in hand, and leaned the other hand on the countertop, imagining the bodies in motion, the muscles pulling under the skin, blood thick in their fibrous cords, and in the flesh, even in the very bones, enriching the marrow, strengthening the body’s supports. 

He imagined one, a particularly swarthy chap with stubble shadowing his jaw, knelt at his feet, sucking his cock. He imagined the masticators stretching, buccinator pursing, the tongue hot and vital. He was in no position to simulate it, but imagined another coming up behind him, pulling his hips into a position that suited him, and slicking his ass up to fuck hard and quick. He imagined the grip on his pelvis, strength in the fingers enough to bruise, the force of the thrusts, in his mind, nearly enough to buckle him. His hand flew over his cock, pulling harshly, until with a ragged shout, he came into the dish and across the paper towel.

Panting, he tucked himself away, smoothed the hair on his brow, and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. He’d have to move quickly, if he wanted to catch the semen while it was still fresh.

Under the microscope, he was able to isolate a single spermatozoön, a tenacious, speedy thing he thought would work well for his purposes. He brought it, invisible, on a slide into the range of the MediGun, and switched the machine on.

Bathed in that wild red glow, the little tail began to twitch madly. The Medic watched with interest how, under magnification, it seemed to roll and thrash, by all purposes alive– but did it think? Did it have its own desires besides swimming forward blindly? 

Very carefully, he performed the series of manoeuvres he’d used to separate that mugger’s consciousness from his body: excitation of the corporeal form via acute application of the MediGun, introduction of an electrical current into a conductive liquid, and finally, the placement of an australium-glass bell jar equipped with a vacuum pump over the correct part of the body, in order to draw all impulses away from the flesh. With the hoodlum he’d used the face (the heart had not worked), and the life force he’d drawn into the jar had been a bright green ball of light which floated in the centre, tethered to the glass by tendrils of electric energy like the filaments in a plasma globe. For this, he simply covered the slide with the jar, and hoped for the best.

Then, he could only wait.

The jar shimmered, but it was nothing like the knot of energy that had formed when he’d tried this before… And that was when he’d only had jumper cables and a 1961 Pontiac to hand to introduce the electric current. This time he was far more precise in his methods– but, he supposed, the test subject was much smaller this time. Perhaps the ball of light was directly proportional in size to its source.Sliding a rubberised plate under the bell jar, he trapped what little energy might be there, and glanced around. He hadn’t quite planned this all the way through, but he hadn’t done so the first time, either; the pumpkin was not necessarily an ideal host, but it was close-at-hand, and proved to be a sprightly Hallowe'en decoration if nothing else. The Medic’s eyes fell on his refrigerator, and he very carefully set the jar down on the counter to stoop into the freon and cigarette scented interior no amount of baking soda had managed to help. In a bucket, new from his supplier, was the next step of his experiment. He’d planned to graft it with one of the Soldier’s fresher heads, but he felt this, too, was a fair use of a rare Malagasy ultrasquid.He brought the bucket over and carefully laid plastic over the exam table. Gently, he arranged the squid on the plastic, and cranked up the MediGun. Next, a bit of a juggling act with the jar, until he could touch one tentacle to a faint shimmer coursing through the inside of the glass.

The tentacle twitched.

The Medic gave a crackling laugh, the likes of which the rest of the team had learned to sleep through peacefully, and watched while the misty beam issued forth from his ceiling-mounted MediGun. The large cephalopod seemed to shiver, one huge, saucer-sized eye rolling in its socket to focus on the Medic. The blue-grey skin rippled, and brightened. Chromatophores blew out their colour to a wild, hyper-saturated cyan. The limbs stirred. Slowly, one lifted, tremulously, from the surface of the exam table, its curled end gesturing meaninglessly in the air. It writhed, and its suckers gripped the side of the table.

The Medic reached for a tape recorder, and clicked the button with haste.

“Life-energy experiment number seventy-three, subsection two: I have successfully reanimated a Malagasy ultrasquid using the life energy of a single spermatozoön.” He clicked the pause button, and thought for a moment. “This was accomplished using the same procedure described in tape 1459, experiment seventy-three, subsection one. Subject appears active, and is very rapidly adapting to its new body. Oh! It is attempting to explore! That is so cute!”

The squid hauled itself along the plastic, loud, sucking, popping noises arising with every jerking slide. With a flailing effort, it coiled one grasping arm around the Medic’s wrist and tugged with a surprising force.

“Subject is– stronger than I would have thought, or expected from a technical reanimated corpse, for want of a better word. The arms of a cephalopod are almost pure muscle and– Oof! It does not appear that the squid body has diminished in motility nor strength, despite having been dead, shipped from the Malagasy Republic, and kept in refrigeration. Let me just, take, this… off–!”

He set the recorder down on the exam table, the tape still rolling, while he struggled to extricate his arm. In the blink of an eye, another limb wrapped around his hands, entangling both and causing the Medic to struggle. He shook, and twisted, and lost his balance, crashing down to the floor with the squid and the table coming down with him. The tape recorder skittered across the tiles and landed a short distance from his left elbow. If he could just get his hands free, he could continue to make notes, but as it was, he was too distracted by the squid clinging to the floor and effectively trapping him under its punishing, unflinching hold.

He lay on his belly while the squid engulfed him in the web between its tentacles. “Subject has already discovered how to use leverage, and is perhaps a bit /too/ strong,” he annotated, hoping his recorder could still pick up his narration. He moved frantically, and when the squid would not budge, only then did he begin to experience an inkling of fear– especially since the creature’s beaked mouth pressed dangerously close to the Medic’s nether regions. Then, the unthinkable happened: the beak snapped at him, its treacherous points threatening to do irreparable damage, and while the Medic braced, nothing happened. His trousers were shredded under that demanding mouth, and the Medic felt an uncharacteristic swell of panic mounting in him. “Subject has destroyed my clothing, to what end, I do not know. It may yet attempt to injure me, but as yet I am unharmed.”

He wriggled under the beast as much as he could, and pushed his glasses up. Up close, the animal looked somewhat different from the picture in his supplier’s catalog. Firstly, it lacked the distinctive ventral stripes of a Malagasy ultrasquid, and secondly its pupils had contracted to the shape of a figure-eight. Additionally, it was emitting a strange, high-pitched babbling sound, like a recording of running water played at ten times the speed, and the Medic didn’t think squids communicated with sound. He was slowly coming to realise that the product delivered was not as advertised. But, if the creature currently winding arms around his legs and pulling his hips off the ground was /not/ a Malagasy ultrasquid… What was it?

“Subject is not a Malagasy ultrasquid,” he reported, his voice shaking. “Subject is currently unidentified. Subject is secreting fluid where it has my body in its grasp. It is warm, but does not burn. It has soaked what remains of my clothing, and feels slick where my skin is exposed. Currently, I am unable to move from where I am trapped on the floor, but, subject is moving as I speak. I intend to wait until subject moves sufficiently that I may free myself.”

The slippery arms moved up his thighs, and ripped his trousers further. They slid between his legs and ran under his cock, still sensitive from his earlier masturbation, and the Medic gasped. He assumed the creature was only attempting to explore its surroundings, but the suckers teased at his flesh and, despite himself, he felt himself begin to harden. Then, the creature made a low, cooing noise, and the arm left his cock, slid up his perineum, and began moving against his entrance. Slick and muscular, it felt like a tongue, pressing slowly inside of him.

“Subject, in an act of exploration has, hmmm…” He tried to keep narrating, but the tentacle pushing into him made his cock fill. “Has found its way into my body,” he panted. “The suckers breaching my hole do not seem to grasp at anything. Oh! Oh, it is releasing more of that fluid through its skin, and I can feel it squishing inside of me…”

He trailed off while his cock gave a twitch, the arm beginning to pull out of him before shoving its way back in again, expanding, thickening, firming. The suckers were ridges against his entrance, sensitising his hole, and his legs began to quake. Then, a second arm began forcing its way in alongside the first one, and he bit his lips to avoid crying out. Already his cock was dribbling on the concrete floor, and two tentacles stretched him wider than he’d ever managed with his fingers. It hurt in the most exquisite way.

“Subject appears to know what it is doing. I postulate this is because it,” he choked on his words as the two tentacles alternated on thrusting and withdrawing, so his ass was always stuffed full. “Because,” he huffed, his hips hiked up farther so he had to brace on his elbows, “because it’s consciousness has been invaded by that of a spermatozoön!” he finally managed. “Its drive is to find an egg and fertilise it. I do not, oh! I do not know what will become of me,” he moaned, as yet another thick, writhing tentacle entered him alongside the others. They twisted and coiled inside of him, and he felt stretched to his extreme.

How much of the creature’s consciousness was its own, and how much was the result of his experiment? He’d never been able to use the MediGun alone to revive subjects from the dead, so this was clearly the result of something else. And, what kind of creature was this? He gazed, upside-down, down the line of his body at his cock hanging thick and mostly untouched between his legs, and at the creature, what little of it he could see. The fluid, a vivid, unearthly turquoise, dripped down his legs as it spilled out of his ass. It felt obscene, like he’d been fucked and filled by a crowd of men, and their release was now leaking out of him. He shuddered, and a fourth tentacle twisted into him. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe his body could take that much, couldn’t believe how good it felt.

The recording on his tape was going to be nothing but slick sounds and moans, and he struggled to complete the experiment. “Subject continues t-to penetrate me, presumably, it, it OH! It, ach, it is attempting to, t-to to deliver its genetic load. And I swear I can hear it in my head, though I do not know how…”

There was a low hum, a static between his ears, which sounded warm and thick and felt like a presence stroking his mind. Pictures manifested with it, and he was sure he didn’t think them up, as they were no place that he recognised. But, they made his pelvic floor clench like the memory of an earth-shattering orgasm. He began to wonder if they weren’t being fed to him by the creature, as much as it fed its many arms into his ass.

“I do… not know… what it… will do,” he forced out between the thrusts, “Will it reach… completion… and accomplish… its goal… of, of impregnating… some imagined eggs?”

He didn’t know what that would feel like, and he didn’t know if he was going to come before it happened. He was getting close, the heat tangling inside of him, and he hoped it didn’t startle the creature into violence. It was so /strong/ its muscles like corded steel, and that thought made his balls hitch up. He was so close, so close–!

“Ah, ah! Yes! More!”

A rush of fluid gushed inside of him, and his eyes widened, overwhelmed not only by the heat and wetness filling him to his limit, but by the images the creature projected at that moment, a rapid-fire series of suggestions of pleasure that made his mind white out for as long as it took for him to realise he was coming, and coming hard. Even though he’d come not too long before, it seemed to go on and on until he was insensate, moaning himself hoarse.

“Oh, ah, I can’t stop!” He told the recording, if no one else. “I keep… keep coming, and I am so, so full…” He almost felt like weeping, his face pressed into the cold concrete for some small relief, and drool pooling under his cheek. His glasses were crooked, his vision blurry, and the creature kept thrusting into him, sticky liquid slopping out of him with each motion. “Ooh,” he groaned, brokenly. “Oh it is going to fuck me until I die and I will Respawn and return to find it still fucking my lifeless body,” he moaned, tears finally rolling down his cheeks, the sensation too much. His cock still twitched and dripped pathetically and it was making him dizzy. Then, he felt it, a final spurt inside of him, the fluid thicker and warmer than ever before, and he coughed, and reached a trembling hand down to feel at his swollen gut, filled with an alien creature’s ejaculate and tingling.

The tentacles slowly withdrew, and without their support the Medic collapsed to the floor. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, boneless, panting, and then he noticed that the squid-like animal was hauling itself nearer to his face. He tried to pull his wits together enough to manage some semblance of panic, but only got as far as vague alarm before the end of one twisting arm reached for him, and gently touched his lower lip. It was so tender a gesture that he stared into the large eye fixed on him, struggling to communicate with a being he didn’t understand. Liquid still leaked out of him onto the floor, and his gut looked round and over-full. He blinked, so unsure of what this creature was trying to tell him.

The arm reached past him, and touched his tape recorder. It didn’t push any buttons, but the recorder played back his own voice, in sections, as if the tape had been cut and edited together.

“I–am–free–to–/more/–OH!” the speakers declared, and the Medic looked from the machine to the creature in utter confusion. ‘To-more-Oh’? Tomorrow?

“Tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yes!” came his orgasmic shout from the recorder. “Ship–is–destroyed. I–am–trapped. Want–to–fuck–/more/?”

The question was implied by modulation of the tape, making his voice sound higher than before.

“Is… Is that why you came to this planet?” the Medic asked, his mind buzzing with questions for the mind-altered sentient alien sitting post-coital on the floor of his surgery.

“Completion–of–goal–to–explore. Success. Can’t–return–to–my–planet. Thought–I–would–die. Don’t–know–what–I–will–do.” It paused. “Want–to–fuck–/more/?” it repeated, and the Medic barked a surprised laugh.

“Because you have nothing better to do?” he asked, wryly.

“I–like–to–penetrate–you.” it stated through the recording, and it was surreal hearing it in his own voice. “You–like–to–take–my–load.”

The Medic blushed. “Yes, well,” he stated, brushing his lab coat off rather pointlessly and attempting to stand. His legs were weak, he oozed alien seed, and he was so sore he wasn’t sure he was going to make it to his bed, but he felt surprisingly positive about the outcome of this experiment. “I will deal with all of this in the morning. Do you sleep?”

“Yes!” the machine barked again, and the creature followed him into the adjoining room, pulling itself along on its many legs and trailing the tape recorder behind it.

Hardly believing what had become of his life, the Medic stripped off his sticky, ruined clothing, and climbed into bed, while the alien curled up on the pillow next to his.

He closed his eyes, and heard the tape recorder crackle to life again.“How–do–you–like–your–eggs–in–the–morning?”

“Was?” he mumbled, exhausted.

“You–will–want–to–be–full–so–you–can–fuck–some–/more/,” the alien replied.

Perhaps he /had/ made a monster, he thought, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> It Came (and came and came) from Outer Space!
> 
> http://daskingu.tumblr.com/post/142707545252/went-back-and-re-did-an-old-pic-i-forgot-to-finish
> 
> That's where it all started.


End file.
